


Girls Night Out

by theangrywarlock



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/F, Genderbending, femmeslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/pseuds/theangrywarlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has just found out that Enjolras is secretly a female. Surprisingly enough, so is Grantaire. What follows is little but smut. Could very well just be PwP. Written because the fandom needs more genderbending and femmeslash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girls Night Out

Virgin did not mean stupid.

Virgin did not mean naive.

Grantaire dearly wished that was the case. Grantaire, it must be said, never cared to live a lie. Brought up in an absuive household, Grantaire had left the residence and journeyed to Paris. Therein, a life of endless disappointments awaited. Drinking always seemed the most logical choice. So what if it ate away at one’s life? So what if it ended in a lack of bathing, a lack of good moral choices, a lack of regard for one’s self? The clothes got shabbier, the slouch grew more pronounced, and the words grew more slurred and unruly. Grace was never something Grantaire ever cared a cuss for in the first place. What harm was losing it now? Beauty wasn’t ever employed either, for Grantaire’s family wasn’t exactly a flowing river of charm and bubbling self-confidence. The inheritance of an uncaring soul was all Grantaire had taken from his kin.

Enjolras was the one good thing in Grantaire’s life and, unfortunately, that one good thing was impossible to ignore.

Enjolras did not push Grantaire away. That was the problem. Instead, the marble statue beckoned him closer, asked flat out what the skeptic’s views were, inquired on Grantaire’s health on occasion, and only when Grantaire proved to be completely and utterly of disuse, did another finally lose patience.

Grantaire kept returning. Enjolras never ceased trying to build up that low self-esteem.

It became a near war between the two with Grantaire silently begging Enjolras to just look away, to focus on the lieutenants, to leave the failed pile of misery in the back to the absinthe and general rotting, and to just keep speaking but not including ol’ Capital R because the future ought to be bright. The future ought to be without lies and deception.

Because Enjolras wouldn’t do this. Because deep down, Grantaire didn’t want Enjolras to stop. Because there was only one way to stop the flow of optimism that came through Enjolras’ lips, Grantaire had one night closed the gap between them.

Enjolras’ lips were soft, pliant, and Grantaire found it all too easy to push the man up against the wall. Enjolras was light, slender. Such things could easily be excused. The man didn’t eat. Combeferre continually emphasized this whenever he thought they were alone. Enjolras was kissing back and Grantaire’s fists clenched against Enjolras’ waistcoat, both heady with desire and terror because this wasn’t enough. Not even this was enough to chase off the man.

It was that mix of desire and anger that caused Grantaire to tear at Enjolras’ shirt and uncover the bandages within, causing Enjolras to pull back instantly.

Grantaire noted that it wasn’t fear that held Enjolras in place. There was something akin to resignation as Enjolras stood back up, leaving his shirt unbuttoned.

No, not his.

“You’re a woman.”

“Glad you noticed.” There was neither mockery nor malice in Enjolras’ voice.

“And you trust me to keep this a secret?”

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow. “You are still my brother. It would go against myself if I didn’t trust you. You hold our secrets already.”

It was beautiful to be believed in by such a man-woman as this. Grantaire smiled, feeling shattered inside. “I am not your brother.” And before Enjolras could question it, before Enjolras could react really, Grantaire was pressed back up against her and undoing the wine-stained shirt.

Grantaire believed that she had been the first one who had ever surprised Enjolras so thoroughly, and yet no words were spoken afterwards. There was just a quick smile that still contained all the light in the world, and then Grantaire’s mouth was back upon Enjolras’, drinking in as much of that sun as she could.

\---

Exploration was key. Grantaire couldn’t help trembling while doing so. She couldn’t help but see the comparisons of their bodies. Enjolras, beautiful and frail, golden hair splayed out upon Grantaire’s pillow, the curves all the more emphasized when outside of the confines of clothing, bandages, and padding, and she was looking away now at Grantaire’s walls.

“Look at me,” Grantaire said, her voice heady with desire. Blue eyes turned to her with a small trace of embarrassment.

“I’ve little doubt that you like what you see, but you’ve been staring for some time now. Can you understand it if my attention wanders?” Enjolras, regardless of gender, had a tendency to be blunt. Grantaire liked that about her.

“I can understand it. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” and here Grantaire ran a hand down Enjolras’ side, fingertips brushing along the gentle curve of her hips. “But understand me, now. This might be the only chance I have to be with you. I’m an artist at heart, not a drunkard, so I long to take all you in and hold onto such memories. If necessary, I would like to call them up later to paint your figure.”

“Not for public viewing.”

“Never for public viewing.” Though she would happily etch Venus into the walls of her flat. Apollo was rather ruined for her now and happily so. Venus was far more attainable. “But it must be enough to withstand the drinks that eat away at my mind.”

Enjolras sat up and Grantaire immediately moved an arm around her waist. Moving in close, Grantaire could smell what he construed to be sunlight coming off of her skin. She closed her eyes and thought of the dawn. “Don’t get up,” she whispered.

“Then undress fully and join me.”

Grantaire couldn’t resist leaving a trail of kisses along the delicate nape of Enjolras’ neck. “In a bit, if you would grant me some time.”

Some time ended up being a few hours. Grantaire had long since discarded her cravat, waistcoat, and shirt. Her pants stayed in place and she wasn’t inclined to remove them just yet. Like Enjolras, she wasn’t ashamed of her body, but she knew that she didn’t compare to the one in her bed.

Instead, she set to removing Enjolras’ hesitations bit by bit. Her mouth was put to good use, as she trailed her lips down Enjolras’ chest, teeth tugging upon a nipple, tongue swirling against the soft mound of skin. The chill air allowed it to rise but Grantaire’s ministrations kept all of Enjolras on edge.

Virgin simply meant that, Grantaire knew, and considering Enjolras’ inclination toward cross-dressing and hiding one major aspect of who she was, Grantaire wasn’t so sure that her lover had bothered with any men or women beforehand. Grantaire, for her part, had a few men in her life, all at the beginning of her new habitation in Paris. After awhile, even that pursuit had diminished. While she had never thought about taking in women before, she had to admit that her love hadn’t dimmed once she found out the truth behind Enjolras’ clothing. Though she doubted she would bother with any women afterwards.

Yet another thing Enjolras had ruined her for. Not that complaining was on Grantaire’s mind.

Especially not when Enjolras was making such delightful sounds as Grantaire thrusted her tongue deep inside the blonde. In fact, Grantaire thought, she was feeling rather playful.

Holding Enjolras’ legs in place so that Enjolras wouldn’t accidentally kick her in the face, Grantaire took a great deal of pleasure in running her tongue against Enjolras’ opening and then upwards to flit against her clit.

Enjolras, for her part, could not stop the noises coming out of her mouth. They weren’t the soft cadence of a speech, but they were lyrical all the same, and Grantaire took them in with a quickening heartbeat as she sucked in the small nub into her mouth, making Enjolras cry out and arch off the head.

The orgasm, when it came, left Enjolras shuddering and sweating against Grantaire’s sheets, and there was a moment, a dark small space of time, in which Grantaire sat up to admire the sight. And she thought to herself that Enjolras, pure, virginal, beautiful Enjolras, was laying upon her bed, chest heaving, eyes half-shut.

And she was mine.

Grantaire hadn’t known she had a possessive side, but in that moment all she wanted to do was solidify the fact that Enjolras was there, was not only approachable, but also quite literally begging to be shown everything. If not verbally, then by action. It was in the way Enjolras slowly looked up at Grantaire, the way her fingers touched against Grantaire’s leg, the red lips parting for air and to say Grantaire’s name in that musical whisper. Grantaire couldn’t help but feel simultaneously turned on and thoroughly ambitious.

She had not entertained men, but she had entertained herself plenty of times. This culminated into a small collection of items that she kept locked away. Let the revolutionaries hoard their guns. Grantaire hoarded her own means of escape from the world.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, fingers tracing Greek nonsensical words along Enjolras’ stomach.

“Yes.” The answer was breathless. Every part of Enjolras’ body felt highly sensitive, as though all her nerves were alive and waiting for the next sensation.

What started as a simple question became a night-long endeavor. Grantaire was almost methodical, watching Enjolras’ reactions with an eye for detail that would have impressed Combeferre.

Grantaire started out small, droplets of cold water followed by candle wax. Enjolras, who knew no better and who cared even less for what was right or wrong so long as it felt perfect, allowed for this, encouraged it even, all the while trying to reach for Grantaire’s pants. Grantaire remained just out of reach, sometimes straddling Enjolras’ body, pinning down her hips, and whispering words into her ear. Small commands.

“Be still,” Grantaire said as she slowly worked the slender plastic toy up inside Enjolras’ body. “Relax.”

There was a command to Grantaire’s voice that she had never utilized before, but it was tempered with such gentle sweetness that Enjolras couldn’t help but obey. Her legs spread a bit wider to allow easier access, and yet there wasn’t a moment in which she could stop touching Grantaire. A hand had to be touching Grantaire at every turn. Or a foot, or some degree of skin against skin. Grantaire didn’t mind this, understood it to some small extent. She knew the need of having another there, trusting another with so much. And yet the fact that it was her that Enjolras was trusting was amazing to the point of being almost whimsical. As though she was dreaming all of this and Enjolras couldn’t be real, couldn’t be thrusting against the toy inside of her body, couldn’t be learning all the exciting facets of herself at the same time as Grantaire.

Yet here they were. With Grantaire moving the toy in and out of her lover, increasing the pace when it became apparent that Enjolras wanted more. She only paused the rhythm when an orgasm struck and Grantaire was falling more and more in love each time Enjolras’ body tensed and the toy came against an incredible pressure of internal muscles, and afterwards, Enjolras tried to lay on her side to calm her frazzled nerves.

Grantaire could be a cruel taskmaster, however, and kept her in place with her own body if need be only to start up the relentless pace once again, needing to see Enjolras’ body writhe in pleasure and torment.

She could give Enjolras this. She and no other. With that thought in mind, Grantaire leaned down and bit one of Enjolras’ nipples, delighting in the sharp intake of air.

An hour later and Enjolras wasn’t moving. The cravats were of fairly good quality. They wouldn’t leave any marks. While Grantaire originally wanted to lend enough room for Enjolras to shift out of the bonds if she so wanted, what Grantaire had planned couldn’t allow for such leeway. She needed Enjolras to squirm, yes, but breaking out of the bonds could result in injury.

She would rather have Enjolras slightly uncomfortable than harmed.

“Do you still trust me?”

Enjolras could only nod. She was fast approaching exhaustion, her body more used to different forms of exercise. This sort of stimulation caused her mind to go hazy, her body to shudder, and every bit of her skin felt as though it was on fire. “Grantaire, please…” she started, but could not finish. For once, words failed her.

“You will like this.”

Truthfully, not many people would be so calm when faced with a whip. Enjolras approached the matter with the sort of single-minded stoicism that she approached with everything else. It was as though everything new was on a list titled ‘Wait and See’, all dependent on who was wielding what implement or how the situation was handled. Enjolras was not one to rush into snap judgments about anything. She took her time, she learned, she understood, and then she came to her conclusion.

The whip was no different.

It did not break skin, first and foremost. Enjolras had no idea where or when Grantaire learned to use a whip. Her mind wouldn’t provide her with any insights as it felt as though her brain just exploded from a remarkable transition of pain and intense pleasure. The whip was brought down again over her chest, a slap of slender coiled leather against her breast, and Enjolras arched up after the fact, her wrists straining against the bonds that held her against the bed.

“You react quickly,” Grantaire said, her voice about as strained as Enjolras looked. The sight of Enjolras was enough to make her wet. That and the sounds of her lover before had brought with them a few of her own orgasms, all duly ignored in favor of feeling Enjolras move underneath her body or scream or cry out in ecstasy.

Right now, Grantaire had to maintain far more control over herself than before. The whip could be a dangerous weapon, used to hurt if she hit the wrong spot rather than something to be utilized for pleasure. Each lash had to be tempered, not too harsh, but not too delicate. Enough to sting, but not enough to cut.

“Breathe,” Grantaire commanded, and only struck again when she was sure that Enjolras was obeying her. Each time the whip came down against the beautiful pale flesh, displaying a reddening mark, Grantaire felt her own breath catch in her throat. Enjolras moved, either into the whip or against it depending on the angle and where Grantaire struck. Her eyes, which started out as wide as saucers, were closed now, as though to prolong the anticipation of where Grantaire would elect to strike her.

It was all the motivation Grantaire needed. Enjolras’ enjoyment, her trust, the fact that she looked so utterly debauched upon Grantaire’s bed already. Everything fit, as though a harmony was being conducted within the room that only Grantaire could hear and recognize.

It occurred to Grantaire that some part of Enjolras had been ready for a sort of torture or infliction of pain. One couldn’t be a revolutionary, ready to change the world, without realizing that there was always the possibility of being caught or exposed. If there were names to be had, the possibility of an extensive interrogation would take place.

Yet there were no marks on Enjolras’ body that indicated any sort of self-harm for preparation. There was nothing but pale, flawless skin that was now marred with criss-crossing lines of red. Grantaire felt a rising pride that she hastily choked back.

The lashings came more frequent now as Enjolras’ breathing became more and more shallow. She twitched as she moved.

“Let yourself go,” Grantaire instructed, and with the next lash, Enjolras did just that, climaxing once again that night, unable to remember the number of times. Grantaire had wanted to keep count but knew it was an impossible task. She took a bit of pride in that as well.

But it was impossible to ignore the soft exhale of air, the tilt of Enjolras’ head, her hair falling into her face, the dazed look in her eyes as she didn’t even try to regain control of herself.

The whip fell to the ground, Grantaire uncaring about it in her moment of near desperation. She tore through the cravats against Enjolras’ wrists and ankles, and immediately lifted up one delicate long leg, showering the limb with kisses and licks that moved up to Enjolras’ thigh, her hands rubbing against the smooth contours of Enjolras’ calf muscles and up to her inner thigh. “So beautiful,” she murmured, mouth against fair skin.

Grantaire’s pants went the way of the whip and Enjolras smiled, finally getting a chance to see all of her lover just as the morning sun rose to embrace them in its rays of light.


End file.
